


hold me down, I'm so tired now

by princess_smudge



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: AU Hecate gives her magic to reignite the founding stone, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_smudge/pseuds/princess_smudge
Summary: No one comes looking for her. How could they?  Why would they, when the best parts of her were wholly supernatural.





	1. i feel like i'm about to fall

She's always cold now. The ice that had crept through their veins after the founding stone went out has clung to her, leaving her constantly shivering. She has no magic to cast warming spells, no energy to stoke fires. Her parents’ old house is even colder than she can remember, every surface coated in dust that takes effort she doesn't have to remove. And what's the point anyway?  Without her magic, she’s no witch. She's barely even a person.

The first night, she doesn't sleep. She doesn't attend the Halloween Night either, the one that was supposed to be a celebration of their magical gifts, the night to give thanks, and now serves only as another reminder of what she has lost. She can't stand Ada's pity, or the girls' gazes. And she knows she will have to leave Cackle's. So instead she treks by foot through the overgrown forests, along lonely dirt roads and through ice-cold rivers. When day breaks, there's no sunshine. Instead, only a constant icy drizzle that seems to freeze her very bones. By the time she makes it to her parents’ old cottage the next afternoon, her feet are bleeding from where her shoes have rubbed, her dress torn and covered in prickles. She falls to the stone floor and sobs.

The second night, she's tired, but she still can't manage to warm herself. The cottage has none of the non-magical trappings, electricity and hot water. Her father would never dream of relying on such ordinary measures. There are no matches in the drawers, and to build a fire hitting rocks together like some sort of primitive caveman would make everything real. The loss of her precious magic. The loss of her.

So she hides under all the dusty blankets she can find and cries herself to sleep.

The third night she's sick of pity. Sick of weakness. Full of self-loathing at the disgusting husk of a human she's begin. She finds a bottle of witches brew in the cellar and drinks until she can feel only the slight warmth in her belly and tingling in her fingers that in her delirious state, she can kid herself is her magic.

 

She loses track of the days. She's so cold she doesn't bother to open the thick blinds most days and spends her hours shivering underneath the dusty blankets, with the many bottles of witches brew by her side. Once, she wanders as far as her old bedroom, the photo of her and Pippa on her dressing table. She snaps the frame down. She wouldn't want Pippa to see her like this. Pippa wouldn't want her like this. How could she? When Pippa liked the witchiest witch and now she's nothing.

She drinks some more.

No one comes looking for her. How could they?  Why would they, when the best parts of her were wholly supernatural. She wonders who they have to replace her, whether they'll look after the girls, see them through exams. Then she finds she doesn't want to think about it.

She drinks.

 

* * *

 

Mildred doesn't recognise her at first, so used is she to the dark hair pinned neatly and the prim and proper posture. At first, she doesn't realise why her mother looks so panicked, twisting her fingers together as the woman on a gurney is rushed past the nurses station where Mildred has been sitting for the last three hours, sketchbook in front of her. No, it's the herbs she notices clasped in the woman's hand that make her cry out in shock and fear.

"Millie," her mother begins, "I'm sure she'll be fine-"

It's only then that she registers _who_. Miss Hardbroom.

"No, Mum. It's..." But there's no time to argue. The vines in her hand are already embedded deeply around her clasped palms and wrists. "Banished be!" Mildred cries, but she's too far away.

"Millie!" Her mother calls again. "Millie, she'll be-"

"That's darkroot!" Mildred gasps, already on her feet. "It'll kill her."

Mildred doesn't stop to wonder why Miss Hardbroom, a witch so skilled in magical potioneering, would be clutching darkroot in her bare hand. She's still transfixed at the way the roots are slowly blackening the tips of the broken fingernails.

She doesn’t consciously cast the invisibility spell on herself. That magic fizzes naturally from her fingertips as she dashes forwards, following the doctors examining the death-pale woman.


	2. how deeply are you sleeping or are you still awake

"Mildred, this... Blackfoot?"

"Darkroot." Mildred corrects, not taking her eyes off the pale woman in front of her. "It's a plant. Hard to find. Dangerous to have. The moment it touches bare flesh it punctures it, worms into veins to spread poison. It feeds off... off bad thoughts. Sadness and despair."

"Oh." Julie can think of nothing to say to this. "But you got rid of it. The vines? That... banished be or something?"

"I got rid of the vines." Mildred confirms. "Just the outside though. The poison will spread. The vines will sprout again. It's... it's a deadly plant. It grows. I've just... slowed it. It will keep spreading. It could still..."

Mildred shudders, and Julie wonders if she's failed as a mother. After all, a hospital emergency room is hardly the place for a young girl to grow up in. "Love, maybe you should go home. I can call Aunty Mo, see if she'll come-"

"I'm not leaving her." Mildred's words are calm, but they leave no room for debate. "She gave up her magic for us. I have to be here for her now."

Julie glances between the prone figure and her daughter, and although she wants to hope for the best, she feels the need to prepare her daughter. "Millie, her vitals aren't so good at the moment. She's fighting but..."

"She'll be okay." Mildred mutters. "She has to be."

  
Mildred grips Miss Hardbroom's hand in her own, hugs her, even presses a kiss to the pale skin of her cheek. Because if anything will make Hecate Hardbroom wake up, it's embarrassment.

She babbles. Mildred always knew how much her babbling tormented the older woman. She's give anything now to hear HB wake up and cut off her rambles with barbed words.

Her Mum gives up trying to get her to leave, instead pulling a double shift so that she can stay too, and plying Mildred with cups of tea and sandwiches every few hours.

When Julie does force her daughter home for a shower and a nap, she returns with books about herbs and plants, stumbling over the more complex words as she reads to the still woman.

She studies magical texts harder than she ever has in her life and nearly faints with magical exhaustion when she finally manages to summon Morgana from Cackles, but it's worth it to see the black cat mewl in delight and curl up next to her mistress. None of the nurses on the floor make any comment about the health and safety of having animals in a public ward; they've all known Mildred since birth anyway.

She sleeps, hands clutched around HB's icy ones, which don't seem to warm no matter how tight she holds her.

  
Julie hasn't told her daughter the extent of the woman's situation, but phrases like 'possible self-harm', 'substance abuse' and 'highly intoxicated' leap out at her. She'd heard Mildred's upset words about the dreadful HB that would ridicule and attack her at every turn, and already loathed the woman long before she ended up here. But Mildred had told the tale of the brave woman who had sacrificed all for Mildred and the school, and Julie supposed she owes her some grudging respect for that.

"I would have hoped she'd wake by now." Martin Hopkins murmurs to her, glancing through the doorway too as they both observe Mildred, head resting somewhere near the woman's hip, fast asleep. "She's not in a good way, Julie. Her body temperature alone is still dangerously low and we still don't seem to be able to warm her. Add that to the high levels of alcohol we're still trying to flush from her system, and the vines that she'd somehow managed to grow inside her-" He cuts himself off, closing his eyes. Mildred had explained to Julie exactly how the plant grew, feeding off fear and self-doubt as it drains it's host of energy and oxygen, growing through human limbs. But she can understand how shocking it would be to someone who has no understanding or knowledge of magical plants. "How does your daughter know her?"

Julie hesitates for a moment, and then steps closer to her sleeping daughter. "Hecate has been a family friend." She murmurs, then shakes her head. "She is a family friend." She corrects.

 

Mildred is weak, exhausted beyond belief as she sleeps for most the next day, not letting go of the still-cool hand of HB, or moving away from the warm fur of Morgana. As her eyes slip shut, she thinks about spells that will bring HB back. Awakening Potions, Warming Draughts. She heads home long enough to brew both of them the next day, and although her body temperature warms just a little, the woman does not wake.

 

When Julie starts the conversation with Millie-love, Mildred closes her eyes tight. She doesn't want to hear about percentages, or consequences. And Julie doesn't want to be the one to point it out. She wants this woman to wake. Not for her. But for her daughter.

The cat regards Julie with a glare so reminiscent of HB that Julie almost smiles, before resettling itself into its mistress's side once more. Julie busies herself tidying the nightstand, a jumble of herbology books, drawing pads, a pair of Mildred's gloves and the timepiece that usually hangs around HB's neck. Julie lifts it up, the metal chain pooling in her palm. It's heavier than she would have envisioned it to be. She moves to open the clasp, and then just as suddenly stops, replacing it carefully on the nightstand. It isn't hers to look through.

"Oh, HB, I've got many a bone I want to pick with you." Julie sighs, tucking a stray piece of hair behind the woman's ear. "Wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are all my own. All titles are taken from Florence + the Machine's amazing song 'Sky Full of Song'


	3. what i've seen so far the good ones always seems to break

When a week has passed, Mildred brings in clothes for HB. The woman has lost so much weight over these last few months that she fits easily into the many knitted cardigans, gloves, scarves and socks. She picks the most garish items in her wardrobe, and although she convinces herself that surely, dressing her up like a bad patchwork quilt will certainly force HB to wake, she can't deny the giggle the image brings to her lips. 

She decorates for Christmas too. Brings a tiny Christmas tree and covers every inch of it in tinsel and baubles. 

 

She reads about Darkroot, but for the life of her she still can't think of a single reason why Hecate Hardbroom would be in possession of it at all, let alone clasping it in an ungloved hand. Unless... 

"Millie-Love..." Her mother begins again. "I don't know a blooming thing about... you know, magic. But from everything you've told me... I think you need to consider the fact that she may have done this... on purpose."

"You mean... she tried to... to kill herself?" It's a hard subject for such a young girl to comprehend, even harder for Julie to have to bring up with her. "She's not like that. You don't know HB."

"You're right, love. I don't. I just... I want you to be prepared. Even if she does make I through this she might need... help. Help we can't give her."

Mildred turns back to look at the bandages wrapped tight around HB's arms. "She didn't leave me at Cackles. I'm not leaving her now. We can help her, Mum. I'm not leaving her."

 

"At least one of us should eat something, Morgana." Mildred murmurs glumly, holding out a chunk of tuna from her sandwich to the cat. Its beady eyes regard her much in the same way as her mistress might if Mildred had offered her a chunk of cold tuna, and flicked its tail irritably before curling back into HB's side. 

 

When Hecate opens her eyes, all she feels is pain. She groans, squeezing her eyes shut again. The light is too bright. She longs to cover her eyes with her hand but it is full of lead. 

"HB?" A voice calls. "Mum! She's-"

She falls asleep again. 

 

The next time she wakes, the room is darker, more comfortable. Her arms still feel like lead and her head is still splitting, but at least she can open her eyes without feeling her head explode. 

Still alive. 

She's not sure whether that's a good thing or not. 

Still alive. 

Still cold. 

 

Mildred is ushered outside while nameless, faceless doctors run tests and scans. She wants to stay with HB, can't stand being rushed away from her when the woman is so frail and needing of help. 

She paces outside, her only comfort being that at least her mother is in there too, taking care of her. She tries to look elsewhere but nearly cricking her neck with the amount of times she turns back looking at the closed door of HB's hospital room. 

She's sung the Cackle's school song twenty three times in her head before the door opens and the medical professionals emerge. Mildred stands on tiptoe to see past them, wanting only to know that HB was alright with her own two eyes, but the door closes softly, and she's obstructed from view. 

She's come to dislike her mother calling her Millie-Love. It never seems to bode well. "Well?" Mildred demands, the moment her mother has lowered herself to Mildred's level. "How is she?" 

"She's... confused. Tired. But she seems okay for now, although her core temperature is still quite low. She's going to have to stay a little while though. Meet with some other doctors."

"What sort?" Mildred demands. "We can still help her, right? I mean you know heaps of people at this hospital and-" 

"Millie, they want her to meet with some people to assess her mental health." 

Mildred blinks. "What, like brain damage or something?"

Julie hesitates. "To assess her for depression. Depending on... well, she might need to go into a psychiatric facility." 

Mildred shakes her head. "But that's stupid. She's... she can't go there! She's... they can't just lock her up! She's not crazy!"

"But she's not well. And hon, she might not have a choice. Things are... well, she's a woman with no form of identification, no documentation or credit history or... or birth certificate. And she's come here near death refusing to talk to anyone." 

Mildred takes two steps towards the door. "I can help her. I can talk to her."

Julie reaches out and catches her daughter's arm. "Mildred..."

"What?" Mildred demands. 

"She doesn't want you to see her." Julie rubs a hand across her tired eyes. "We're going home."


	4. maybe i'm dying tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my fellow witches for all the comments and kudoses. I will get back to people personally when I can :) but thank you!

Mildred spends most of the next day huddled under the covers, furious at the world.

Hecate spends most of the same day ignoring the many doctors that try to engage her in conversation, furious at herself.

  
These ordinary - ordinary like her, now - people ask question after question of her. What does her pain feels like? Does she have any family? Does she have thoughts of hurting herself?

She zones it out, recites the Cackle's school song over and over in her head until she wants to cry.

Only when she is alone with stiff hospital sheets and her own desolate thoughts, does she allow the tears to fall. She cries for herself, not just for her present situation but the memories of her past that seem to do nothing more than make her future prospects seem so unbearable.

Alone. Locked up. Ordinary.

  
Oh, her father had been many things. Cruel, neglectful, indifferent and ignorant to the needs of his motherless daughter. But he'd always valued talent. And to Hecate, she could almost pretend that pride was for her rather than just what she could do with a cauldron. It had felt almost as if he'd valued her.

And she can almost hear his voice now.

You're nothing now.

Talentless.

  
She closes her eyes and dreams of a little girl with brown plaits, hands clasped around a broken founding stone.

  
She has no long sleeves here, just a flimsy paper gown and a knitted jumper that is constantly being rolled up at the sleeves so the doctors can put needle after needle into her arms, all attached to bags full of who-knows-what they claim will make her better. She's too tired to care what they pump into her body, but not tired enough not to feel embarrassed at the scars she usually hides.

They ask about them too. Nasty, intrusive questions that have her reliving things she never wants to relive.

  
The nurse that arrives that afternoon is awfully familiar.

"I swapped shifts." Julie answers Hecate's question before the latter has even opened her mouth. "I wanted to talk to you."

Hecate wants to say something, anything. She longs for the quick-witted confidence she used to possess. She wants who she used to be. But that Hecate Hardbroom is gone. Fizzled out with her magic.

"I-"

"No." Julie interjects, raising a finger. "You don't get to speak, Miss High-and-Mighty. You might have missed the finer points of what's been happening the last week while you've been sleeping off one hell of a bender, but my daughter has barely left your side. She's read to you, begged you to wake up, cried more tears than I can count and ruined my good cooking pot brewing potion after potion just so you could open your beady eyes again, and this is how you treat her?"

"Not..." She swallows, trying to regain some semblance of herself. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with any term as uncouth as a bender."

Julie cocks an eyebrow, gesturing to the end of her bed where the doctors keep scribbling things about her that Hecate is not supposed to see. "Well, a bender is what one would assume has happened after getting found drunk in the middle of a snow field."

Ice floods Hecate's veins once more. She remembers tingling in her fingers. Pretending it was magic.

"You were so drunk you wandered off into the middle of a woodside village and if some poor kid hadn't come out to build a snowman and found you, you'd be dead." Julie spits the last word out at her.

"I see you are... folly to the same ghastly exaggerations as your daughter." Cold. So cold.

"Have you heard of paradoxical undressing?" The blonde narrows her eyes.

"I... I can't say I have." Hands. Hands unbuttoning her dress. Hands flailing.

"It's a severe stage of hypothermia. The body becomes so cold that the victim's nerves become damaged and they feel incredibly hot. The victim will undresses themselves in an attempt to cool themselves down, even as their body is freezing to death."

"And I..." Hecate's voice wavers. "I did that?"

"No one's exaggerating here. You almost died. And from what Mildred's told me about that flipping plant, it's a bloody miracle you didn't take anyone else with you."

Hecate closes her eyes and remembers the warmth in her fingers, remembers spinning, trying to transfer and falling, falling into the ice that stole her magic.

"Plant?" Hecate frowns, trying to speed up her brain, to get it to remember.

"Darkroot." Julie hisses. "The vines that Mildred stopped from killing you instantly. The vines that Mildred has been investigating non stop to make sure that you don't manage to kill yourself."

On instinct, Hecate waves her hand, desperate to escape this crushing, all-consuming guilt. She wants to get away, needs to get away. But she's stuck.

Julie seems to know what she's trying to do. "No poofing out of this one. Sort yourself out, Hardbroom. If not for yourself, then for Mildred. I will not have my daughter cry any more bloody tears over the likes of you."

"Mildred Hubble doesn't care." Hecate spits darkly before she can stop herself.

Julie sweeps a hand suddenly in front of her, and for a moment Hecate flinches, sure that the wrath of mother Hubble is about to come down on her. Then she realises that the nurse is holding out a book.

"Look at this. I want you to look. Actually look." Julie peers intently at Hecate, her eyes burning. "It's Mildred's sketchbook. And when you've seen how many are of you, you might start to think of how this affects someone other than yourself."


	5. couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya so it's been a while. Got a few things going on in life... trying to work through some stuff and not entirely happy with this chapter but it's kinda filler so hard to write. Thank you so much to everyone taking the time to read because of their passion with TWW. Your support means a lot to me.   
> Apologies to the most for the cryptic message, but this needs to be said. To the other person reading this for other reasons, can you please respect the decisions I have made? They weren't easy, but I made them because honestly, if I didn't, I might not have survived. Yes, things were that bad. And I know things were bad for you too, but I can't keep feeling responsible for every little thing that happened, and crying myself to sleep at night. I still feel horrible now, but kudossing my every work is not a way back into my life. This isn't the right time for me, and this is not the right place. This is my safe place. It's where I come to forget who I am, not to have the past rubbed in my face. Please, please, I would like that to be respected. Thank you

Mildred had tried to put on a brave face for her mother, but it had faded as soon as the blonde turned away. She was tired. Physically and mentally exhausted, but her mind wouldn't stop ticking over, and when she did finally succumb to a few hours’ sleep, it was interspersed with twisting bones piercing human flesh.

She can’t seem to get away from Darkroot, and she spends night after night wondering why Hecate Hardbroom of all people would be in possession of such a dark ingredient. _Darkroot is a controlled substance, as decreed by the Magic Council Controlled Artefact Act 1790._

 

By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, Mildred's Christmas Spirit is at an all-time low. “Not in much of a mood for celebrations, love?” Julie murmurs softly, after Mildred had spent yet another hour staring at the television screen and yet taking in none of it.

“Sorry.” Mildred mumbles, her forced smile flitting across her face for only a moment before sliding off once more. “I'm just...” She trails off, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread in the lounge cushion. 

_Possession of such an ingredient without a permit is an offence and may result in imprisonment or banishment._

“Worried?” Julie finishes the thought for her, taking the seat next to her daughter and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Mildred’s head slides down to nestle in the dip of Julie’s shoulder. “Love, I know it's hard. More so when you so desperately want to help someone who just... isn't ready for it.”

“I just...” Mildred tugs at the end of one of her plaits. “It's Christmas. She shouldn't be alone on Christmas.” She can't explain her thoughts any other way. Of course, there's more. There always is. Her worry about darkroot, about whether to tell Miss Cackle or even to try and get in contact with Miss Pentangle. Someone, anyone, who might be able to do something more than fumble her way through an antidote to darkroot before getting kicked out of the hospital room. "She shouldn't be alone." She repeats. 

Julie chews the inside of her mouth for a moment, before smiling softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Mildred's head. “You've got a good heart, Millie.”

 

Mildred’s drawings are beautiful. As Hecate turns the pages she is taken away by the raw talent that the young girl possesses. She wonders just how long the young girl had spent sitting, working on each sketch. The start of the book shows scenery at Cackles, so devistatingly real and beautiful that Hecate wonders if her heart will break from homesickness. Algernon's rose garden, Dimity's Witchball pitch, her potions lab. There are quick sketches of Maud, reading or smiling, and Enid too, sneaking into places that would have gotten her explelled if Hecate had ever caught her. And then, she sees herself, sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed, and knows that these are the most recent sketches. She sees herself, smiling over a cauldron. Herself, sneering at Dimity. Herself, standing with Ada, and (Hecate's lips twitch, just a little) herself doused in water by a scared looking brunette, intent on putting out the purple smoke around her. And then, she spots herself once more, on a hospital trolley near death.

She gets stuck on that image, wondering if the way that Mildred had captured her is completely real, or whether the young girl’s fears had impacted her work. Had Mildred really seen her like that? That weak? So close to dying?

She brushes a thumb against the delicate lines Mildred had etched her face in and fights back another sob as she takes in the pale of her cheeks, the rumpled nature of her clothes, the vines clasped in her hands.

“Get a hold of yourself, Hardbroom.” She murmurs. “You… get a hold of yourself.”

She forces herself to turn the page, desperate to lose herself in Mildred Hubble’s imagination, but the next page is not a drawing. Instead, Mildred’s untidy scrawl covers sheet after sheet of paper, with many crossings out and revisions.

Her heart freezes as she catches sight of a heavily corrected section. 

_I call the energy of the witching hour._

_Give this woman back her powers._

 

 

“Millie?” Julie begins hesitantly, placing a reassuring hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I just want you to know that… she might be too upset. She might not be ready to accept your help.”

“I know.” Mildred tugs at her plait determinately. “I’ve tried… everything I can think of. Every way I can word it. But I can’t… her powers… it should have been me.”

“Millie-”

“She stopped me. I let her. She should never have lost them but I can’t… I can’t give them back to her.” Mildred takes a deep breath. “Mum, she needs to know she’s not alone.”

 

HB is asleep when Mildred enters the room, still looking weak and pale, but a lot better than the last time Mildred had seen her. Her hair is still out, tangled and hanging so long that tendrils hang off the edge of the bed and dangle towards the floor.

She looks cold, and Mildred tugs the blankets higher, like she remembers her mother tucking her in years ago.

“She has my book.” Mildred murmurs, catching sight of the sketchbook clutched loosely in one of HB’s hands. “How did she…” She trails off, catching sight of her mother’s guilty look. “You gave it to her?”

“I thought… I thought she needed a nudge.” Julie smoothed Mildred’s hair down onto her forehead. “She cares about you, Millie.” Julie murmurs. “She just needed a reminder that you care for her too.”

 

Hecate wakes feeling warmer, and knows before she opens her eyes that she is not alone. When she opens her eyes and catches sight of Mildred, she has to fight back tears again.

“Hey, HB.” Mildred smiles. “Blessed Yuletide.”

Hecate exhales deeply, feeling her eyes close once more. “Merry Christmas, Mildred.”

 

When she wakes, Mildred and her mother are still there, and the room is a lot more festive than it had been before Hecate had dozed off. Tinsel and baubles hang from the plastic railings of the bed, and soft music plays from a rectangular black device next to Mildred.

“Michael Buble.” Julie smiles when she sees Mildred open her eyes. “Christmas tradition.”

Mildred rolls her eyes and tugs a sweet from her mouth, red-and-white striped and shaped like the handle of an umbrella. “Not one of my favourites, I can assure you.”

“Oh, hush you!” Julie laughs, swatting lightly at her daughter, before turning her gaze back to the dark haired woman. “How are you feeling?” When Hecate doesn’t reply, Julie turns to her daughter once more. “In my locker, there’s a big bag of crisps and some sweets. Why don’t you go and get them for us, hey?”

Hecate doesn’t look up until she hears the door close once more and feels Julie step closer, hand warm on her shoulder. “It’s just me.” Julie murmurs. “Let it out, love.”

“My head hurts.” Hecate murmurs, loathing that she has to show any form of weakness but desperate for something to stop the pounding in her head.

Julie glances for a moment at a clipboard at the end of the bed, then shakes her head. “Not due for any pain relief for another hour, I’m afraid. Water?”

Hecate hates the way that her hands feel like lead even performing a task as simple as trying to hold a cup of water, hates even more the pity in Julie’s eyes as she holds the cup to Hecate’s lips as though she’s a child. It feels like ice sliding down her throat, as though the water has only just emerged from a frozen lake. She shivers. “Cold.” She murmurs, resting her head back onto the pillows and closing her eyes. Strange, how so much of her energy can go into something as simple as taking a few sips of water.

Julie tugs the blankets up to Hecate’s chin. “Millie had that.” Julie murmurs. “After… She’d wake up and feel absolutely freezing, even as she sweated up a storm under blanket after blanket.”

Hecate’s eyelids flicker, but it’s easier to keep them closed. “I’m cold all the time. I can’t get warm. I feel… I feel like I’m frozen, all the time. Freezing.”

“Is that why you’ve been drinking?” Julie’s words cut through Hecate’s words.

The bluntness of the words makes Hecate’s eyes fly open. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve been drinking alcohol.” Julie repeats. “You know what it means. You’re just stalling for time, Hecate. You know that.”

She wonders whether it's a Hubble family trait, this lack of tact, this need to get under her skin. She feels herself so full of rage at the woman in front of her, this...  _ordinary_ woman who had no clue... none at all how Hecate is feeling! “Don't presume to know how I'm feeling.” She snaps.

She wants the woman to snap back, to fight back, so that Hecate can purge some of this rage from her. But Julie shakes her head softly. Sadly. “You’re more than your magic, Hecate.” She murmurs.

Hecate flicks a hand to transfer, then remembers that ability is gone forever. “Easy for you to say. You never-”

“I never had it.” Julie finishes, still in that maddeningly calm voice. “You’re right. You’re allowed to be angry.”

“Anger is counterproductive.”

“Really? Because I’d be blooming pissed. I’d be angry. You were a powerful witch! A great potioneer!”

“Stop!” Hecate's voice scratches against her sore head, pounds against her skull. It rattles her bones, freezes her lungs. And she wants it to be done. Needs it all to be over, but Julie is still talking. 

“Deputy Headmistress.”

“Shut up!” The words ring out in the hospital bed. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I’m nothing now!” She sits up straighter, and there's a clatter as Mildred's sketchbook falls to the ground.

“You’re a woman." Julie whispers, touching a hand to Hecate's shoulder. "You’re a teacher. You’re alive!”

“And who says that’s a good thing?” Hecate demands. 

“Me.” Julie finishes simply. “My daughter. And one day, you.”

 

She turns, so that Julie won't see her tears, and dozes off before Mildred returns. As she sleeps, Hecate dreams of a bubbling cauldron, heated the old fashioned way, a spellbook hidden amongst dark artefacts, and a portrait of two falling witches.

 


	6. be careful my darling be careful of what it takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my fellow Witches :) Started a new job and the kids love to draw with me and are constantly quizzing me on what my black-haired witch is so sad about. They're all hoping for a happy ending for the witch crying by herself in the woods. One of the downsides of subconsciously planning my stories through my drawings - having to explain to curious five year olds.   
> Anywho thank you so much for all the support. Shoutout to PrincessSammi and Dhion for your constant support and lovely comments - I will get back to you all personally some day. Just been a tough few... decades? Anywho thank you thank you

“It’s not much…” Mildred murmurs awkwardly as she presses herself against the kitchen cabinet to allow HB to walk into the room first. Mildred’s eyes scan anxiously around the room, trying to imagine how it would look through HB’s eyes. Small. Cramped, even. The room that serves as their living room and kitchen combined barely fits the two of them, let alone adding another guest. “It’s a bit small, but I’m sure we’ll manage. Um… you’re in my room. I’ll show you.” Mildred moves to lead the tall woman into the hallway, but HB stiffens, as though her shoes have rooted to the floor.

“Mildred Hubble. I can’t-”

“I’m going to sleep on the lounge anyway!” Mildred says brightly, well aware of the potions mistress’ narrow eyes as she tries to detect a lie. “It’ll be just like camping!”

 

Julie says nothing as she watches Hecate’s pained features. Truth be told, she’s still not one hundred percent that this is a good idea. It was one thing to stay by her side in the hospital, but another entirely to open up their home to her.

She just doesn’t want to see her daughter broken.

“That…” Hecate swallows. “That is most generous of you. Both of you. I… I am grateful.” She looks more diminished in non-magical clothing. The clothes she had come in with had been cut away as they rushed desperately to save her life, and with no magic to conjure or summon or… _whatever_ … she was stuck with remnants of Julie’s own wardrobe. The black tights and loose black sweaters are so unlike her usual attire that Julie keeps finding herself goggling. “The kindness you have shown me…” But she doesn’t seem able to finish the sentence, and a moment later she ducks her head, wrapping her arms around her body as though hugging herself.

“I expect you’re tired.” Julie cuts in, recognising the signs of distress. “Mildred can show you where you’ll be staying. Right, Millie-Love?”

 

The younger girl leads the way up the narrow hallway and into a small, sunny room. As Hecate looks around, she takes in how purely Mildred the room is. The desk is covered in an assortment of pencils and drawing pads, spell books and folded clothing. A whiteboard sits on the wall behind it, and Hecate recognises Mildred’s familiar scrawl, but is not prepared for the words on it.

_Awakening Spell?_

_To Call a Lost Witch?_

_Warming Spell – VERY COLD!_

_Bring more blankets in._

_Read her stuff? Potions – FIND POTIONS BOOKS!_

“Sorry!” Mildred interjects, sweeping the sketchbooks and textbooks onto a bookshelf and wiping off the whiteboard with a palm, smearing the words until they are illegible. “I meant to clean up in here. I didn’t mean… sorry.”

Hecate moves to say that it’s no bother, but the words get caught in her throat. “I… I think I will rest. I am…”

“Oh!” Mildred nods so energetically her plaits bob. “Right. Well, there’s clean sheets on the bed. And if you get cold there’s spare blankets in the cupboard and… and if you need anything bang on the wall.”

Mildred is babbling, probably desperate to get away from this ugly, needy thing that she has become. The closing of the door seems to do nothing but reinforce how dreadfully alone she is.

She hates this. Hates this desperate, weak shell of a human being she is. Hates how she sweeps one of Mildred’s spellbooks off the shelf. Hates how she tries and fails to accomplish a simple vanishing spell.

Nothing.

Just a desperate not-a-witch who can’t even disappear properly.

She doesn’t sleep. She’s done so much sleeping over the last few months. Restless sleep, full of nightmares and screaming and tears. She wonders if her body is rebelling, withdrawing from its frequent ingestion of the wide-awake potion that she would sip every night like evening cocoa. Because sleep is for the weak, and she must be the best. The best witch. The witchiest witch.

 

“Blooming freezing out here!” Hecate flinches, gripping the ice-cold balcony railing in shock and immediately letting it go. The cold is so intense it feels like burning. “Oops. Gave you a fright. Sorry!” Julie’s motherly tone clucks in a tone too good natured to be acceptable at midnight.

 _Witching hour,_ Hecate thinks wryly.

“Expect it’s a bit of a change. And you with your height too crammed into Millie’s old bed… probably not too conducive to the healing process.”

“You… I…” Hecate takes a deep breath. “You shouldn’t apologise for moving about in your own home, Ms Hubble. I’m the one imposing here-”

Her gaze flickers inside, to the spot on the lounge where Mildred is sleeping soundly, illuminated by a rotating lamp projecting stars onto the roof.

“You’re not imposing.” Julie assures her. “You’re welcome here for as long as you need, Hecate.”

Hecate’s hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt she is wearing. These words being said feel unfamiliar to her. Kind gestures, and _welcome, as-long-as-you-need._

“Mildred wants you here.” Julie presses, and her voice seems to pull Hecate from her thoughts. “And so do I.”

She hates this, hates how weak she’s become. How Julie Hubble can say eight words to her and touch her arm and she feels the prickle of tears. Hates how cold she feels when she tugs her hand away to swipe bitterly at her eyes. Hates how desperately she wants to believe the words she’s being told.

“Come in, Love.” Julie wraps an arm around Hecate’s waist. “Come out of the cold.”

 

Julie tucks Hecate into bed, like she imagines the woman would do for Mildred too. She’s tucked two hot water bottles into the sheets too, and although her teeth are still chattering, she can almost feel the warmth.

Hecate expects Julie to leave, but instead she wraps her dressing gown tighter around herself and settles into a rocking chair tucked in between the bed and the wall. “Oof.” She groans. “I’m getting too old for this blooming thing.” In the half-light of a string of fairy lights around Mildred’s desk, Julie grins. “When Millie was a baby, I used to sit here for hours trying to sooth her. Poor thing used to have night terrors so bad it would take ages to wake her properly.”

Dimly, Hecate is aware that Julie is only talking for an excuse to keep her company, but she’s too grateful to challenge her on it.

“And then, sitting here telling her bedtime story after bedtime story to try and get her off to sleep. But she’d stop me every few pages to ask _why. ‘Why didn’t the prince remember what Cinderella looked like instead of making every girl try on a shoe?’ ‘Why did Dumbledore leave a toddler on the Dursley’s doorstep? Why couldn’t Harry just polyjuice into a muggle and walk from Privet Drive?’”_ Julie rakes a hand through her hair and smiles fondly at the memory.

“I… I’m afraid I don’t quite understand the references, even if I understand the sentiment. Cinderella? Harry?”

Julie laughs lightly, and Hecate flashes back to memories of her days at Amulet’s Academy, and the cruel laughter of girls mocking her ignorance of popular culture. But Julie’s laugh is not unkind, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, don’t let Millie hear you say that. It’ll be a prescription of fairy tales and Harry Potter. They’re just bedtime stories I used to read her. And Harry Potter has been made into movies too. But the books are much better. Do witches have bedtime stories?” Hecate’s heart skips a beat over the word ‘witches’. She’s not a witch anymore.

“I…” Hecate swallows, forces herself to focus on the question. “We never had such… fairy tales as you call them? Before she passed, my mother would tell me stories of mythology, as she and I were both named after Greek Goddesses. But after her passing, I… well, father was not the kind for bedtime stories.”

She can’t bear to see the pity in Julie Hubble’s eyes. Not when she has already weakened herself so much in the woman’s eyes. But instead the blonde nods. “Um… let’s see.” She stands and scans the bookshelf for a moment before scooping up a heavy novel, grinning. “Well, get ready Hardbroom, because I am an excellent bedtime storyteller.” She flicks open a page and begins to read. “Cinderella.”

 


	7. i was causing such a scene

Slowly, she grows used to her time in the Hubble flat. Of course it’s a degrading learning curve, filled with flushes of embarrassment, like the smile that had twitched behind Mildred Hubble’s eyes as she’d let out a squawk – she refused to accept Mildred’s description of a scream. She didn’t scream – as an infernal beeping crescendo rang out one day. _Just the telephone,_ Julie had near giggled, before registering the blank look in her eyes and leaving Mildred to explain what in Merlin’s name a telephone was.

Or there was the discomfort of having to have Julie go out and buy her clothes to tide her over. _You’re much taller than me, really, and those sweatpants are showing far too much ankle._ At least she’d been able to provide the funds for it. It would have been more mortifying still having to accept _charity_ from the Hubbles. Well, any more than she already has.

Worse by far was the truly mortifying night that she’d woken up to bloodstained thighs and had been forced to confess to the blonde that without magic she was near enough clueless to stop the cramps of what she’s sure is supposed to be natural, but potions had kept at bay since puberty. Of course, the blonde had been nothing but kind, but Hecate would have felt better if she’d shouted.

 

It takes a while for her to notice that Mildred is avoiding her. But once she notices it is hard to look over just how many times the young girl collects a backpack full of possessions and spends the day closeted up at the library down the road, or in her mother’s bedroom.

“Kids.” Julie murmurs, as though to cover up the awkward silence left in the young girl’s wake. “Always busy.”

The phone rings again, and Julie retreats to her bedroom, leaving Hecate alone in the living room staring at the blank TV she’s still too clueless to work alone.

It makes her feel like more of an outsider than ever.

 

By the time New Year’s Eve rolls around, Hecate finds herself closeted in Mildred’s room under not enough blankets, wishing that she was somewhere, anywhere.

Her head is full of New Year memories of yesteryear. Of watching fireworks at the Pentangle Manor, or watching the sky explored above her at Witching College. Of kissing a stranger in the cool air, or drinking wine with Ada. Of the New Years party that Dimity had thrown the previous year.

She used to have fun.

Or did she?

Was she ever fun?

 

She’s a burden on this family. They should be out, having fun together. Not stuck caring for her as though she’s an invalid.

She closes her eyes and pretends to sleep.

 

She wakes up at midnight to see the world explode in a flash of bright sparks and loud cheers, and kneels at Mildred’s window just inside to see bright pink sparks shower from the sky.

“Happy New Year, Pip.” She whispers, and closes her eyes once more.

 

“She’s avoiding me.” Loathe though she is to voice the words aloud, she is so pathetically needy for something, _anything_ to reassure her that all is not lost. “Mildred.” She clarifies, as Julie lowers the book she is holding in confusion. “She’s been avoiding the place. She… I can’t say I blame her.”

“She’s not avoiding you.” Julie clucks. “She’s… she’s a child. Always been adventurous. Always running off to the next adventure. That’s what kids do.” The word causes a lump to form in her throat, and Hecate looks away bitterly. “So we’re still not going to talk about it, then?” She presses.

“Talk about what?” Hecate tries to lace each word with a warning she knows she has not the energy to enforce.

But Julie is both pushy and too brave to back down, and touches a hand to Hecate’s shoulder. “The Founding Stone. The deal you made to restore it. It wasn’t just your magic you gave away for it, was it?”

“I…” Hecate feels shame at the prickling of tears at her eyes. “I’ve known for some time I would never be a mother. This… this just…” Hecate feels the sob rise in her throat. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a mother.”

“No one ever does, love. Heaven knows, when I found out I was having Mildred-” She cuts herself off. “You’ve never imagined having kids?”

_Blonde pigtails. Pink dress. Chasing bubbles through a garden._

“Never.” Her lie sounds obvious, even to herself.

Julie leans forward. “You could still do it, you know? Have children. Ordinary children.”

“No.” Her voice cracks on the word, but she finds herself questioning all the same. Would she choose not to love a child purely because they would have no magic? “I… I made my choice.”

Julie sighs deeply, settling herself deeper into her chair. “I think you should get in contact with some of your friends. You need support. Miss Cackle… or… Millie said you and that… Miss Pentagram? Pentagon?”

“No!” She sits up, having to fight the urge to hide under the blankets like a child. 

“It’s not something you need to decide on now…” Julie murmurs. “I just thought it would be good for you.”

“And what would you know of it?!” Hecate demands suddenly, tugging herself free. “What would you know of it at all? You don’t know me!” 

“I don’t.” Julie agrees. “But I want to. If you’d let me. If you’d stop pushing everyone away.” She stands up so suddenly that Hecate flinches. “Get some sleep.”

 

On Mildred’s last weekend before her return to Cackle’s, she and Julie go out for dinner. Hecate begs off, still loathe to expose herself to the cold Winter air or, more importantly, to impose herself on their presence any more than she was already.

She tells herself that she wants to be free of the inquisitive stares too. Tells herself she’ll feel better, and tries to ignore the pang of loneliness she feels as the door shuts behind them.

 

Mildred’s life is documented in frame after frame across the apartment. A baby with a tuft of brown hair, held in the tired and ecstatic frame of Julie Hubble. Or a toddler, chasing some ducks in a park. Photo after photo shows Mildred’s growth throughout the years. School photos, birthday parties.

It’ll never be her.

It will never be Hecate with the love in her eyes that Julie Hubble possesses. It will never be her, with the beautiful baby in her arms. It will never be her with the happy life.

She doesn’t remember picking up the bottle, of taking that first swig, or even the second or third. She doesn’t remember the comforting warmth that spreads to her fingers, or that need to transfer away, to _fly._

But this warmth, this means that she could surely fly to the tops of the world

If

She

Only

Left

This

Place

 

 

 

 


	8. i can feel your anger from way across the sea

How many mistakes can she make before she’s officially a _bad mother?_ Julie rings her hands anxiously, putting off her next action, because she knows it will be the swing vote, the deciding factor. And she'd thought Hecate was better. Had believed the woman when she waved them off with an airy hand, telling them that she'd be fine, that they should spend the time together. 

She wonders if this whole thing was crazy, a bad idea, her desperately trying to prove to her daughter that a lack of magic didn’t mean weakness.

Had it been about her all along?

Julie cracks her knuckles anxiously, knowing that her daughter will be back at any minute, will see. She moves forward to the cabinet above the fridge and opens it, praying its contents will be intact. But she can already smell the chemical scent in the air, and while she's not surprised to see the empty space she’d known had once housed a full bottle of rum, she still feels the pang of sadness.

“She’s not on the roof or in the garden.” Millie reports, twisting her fingers. "She's definitely not here?" She phrases the observation like a question, as if Julie can provide some simple answer that will explain away Hecate’s absence.

“No.” Julie agrees. “She’s not.”

Mildred looks from the cabinet, still open, to the hallway that leads to the empty bedroom. “She’s run away again, hasn’t she?” Mildred murmurs, and Julie curses the day that Hecate Hardbroom appeared into their lives.

 

When she wakes she’s frozen to the bone, shivering and crying. There’s something that looks awfully like sick down her front, and a sharp pounding in her head.

She opens her eyes, willing the pain to stop. It’s not just the physical pain; she’s lived with that throughout her life. There’s the regret, the knowing that she’s completely screwed up.

Bile rises in her throat and regret flares, and for a moment she wishes that she was tucked up. Just the feeling of a warm bed, the illusion of safety and comfort…

Was it real comfort?

The night before she’d been so sure that it had been fake. And now…

Hecate stands on wobbly legs, and promptly wretches, splattering a lonely blackberry bush with her liquid meal.

She cries. Not just for herself, but the people she’s hurt.

 

“Millie…” Julie has no idea what to say, and she finds herself thinking about all the things she’d wanted so desperately to give her daughter and couldn’t. Julie remembers crying in the middle of London because she couldn’t afford to buy Mildred that doll with the red hair in the window of Harrods for Christmas. Or the brothers and sisters she’d so desperately craved. Julie had hated the way that Mildred’s watercolours were little more than stubs and sometimes all they could afford to eat was noodles or rice, and she hated that on top of everything else Mildred has been lumped with, she has missed out on twelve generations of magical knowledge, and _above all_ Julie hates that Mildred deserved the biggest, most loving family and had instead gotten stuck with Julie, practically still a kid herself.

She wonders whether Hecate was a way for herself to change that. To build up this little family.

If so, she'd abandoned them as quickly as her ex when she'd showed him the pregnancy test. 

But Julie is smart. Dammit, she's made things work. She'd raised her daughter alone and gotten a good job and turned this crappy, poky apartment into a home. And she is not going to let herself down today. 

Angrily, she swipes the keys from the top of the bench. “C’mon.” She murmurs, leading her daughter back into the cold.

 

She’d walked through woods like these before, and she hates how dreadfully familiar each glint of moonlight or thistle of blackberries looks, taking her right back into that night. If she looks ahead, she can almost kid herself that she’s about to enter a clearing with that bubbling red potion sending sparks high into the air. Merlin, it had taken her so long to light the fire without magic, frozen fingers fumbling in the too-cold air.

And she’d clutched her glove-full of darkroot and stared into the eyes of the women in the picture that she hated so much.

The volume was thick with dust, sealed with blood magic of the darkest nature, and she loathed how easily she has fallen back into her father’s darkness.

“A witch makes things go her way.” She whispered, glaring directly into the dark eyes of Agatha Cackle. “A witch _makes things_ go _her_ way.”  

 

And Hecate’s head is spinning and she might be sick again and it would be ever so lovely just to sleep on this soft floor, to be one with nature. Sleep is lovely and lovely is Pippa and-

It would be so easy to sleep. So easy to end it all, and if she had a thicket of darkroot she’d squeeze it tight into her bare flesh. Because even hating Agatha Cackle as much as she does, she still couldn’t kill her.

And odd phrases keep popping into her mind. 

Paradoxical Undressing and Darkroot and Fairy-God-Mothers and Happily-Ever-After.

“Miss Hardbroom!”

“Hecate!”

“HB! Please!”

For a moment she’s sure that the voices are in her own head, but before her still-spinning head can catch up, Mildred has her arms wrapped around her and she’s breathing in the sweet smell of her soap.

“How…” Hecate murmurs.

“Locator spell.” Mildred whispers, releasing the woman just as quickly and swaying slightly.

“You’re… drained. Too much power- too high a level. Foolish.”

“And you’re drunk.” Julie snaps, pulling her daughter closer to her. “Come on, Millie. Let’s get you out of the cold.”  

 

Hecate hates travelling in cars. Julie jerks the wheel sharply with anger, so that the car weaves joltingly throughout the holiday traffic. Hecate doesn’t quite trust herself to speak; in truth, she’s not sure what she’d say. And in any case, she’s not willing to confess her thought process with Mildred sitting in the front seat and Hecate stuffed in the back like an afterthought.

It isn’t until they’re back at the flat and Mildred had been half-frog-marched, half-carried into Julie’s bed that the blonde rounds on her.

“Do you have _any_ blooming idea how worried we were?! Bloody liquor cabinet empty, house deserted! Mildred hasn’t slept! Did you know that? Did you know that we’ve been driving around all night looking for you? Do you know how many times Mildred tried that bloody locator spell before it worked and she damn near collapsed?”

“I… I didn’t-”

“No! You didn’t think!” Julie snaps. “Once again, it’s all about Hecate-Bloody-Hardbroom! Well, let me tell you, you’re not the only one suffering here. Mildred is having nightmares every night about being frozen. I keep seeing…” Julie shudders. “Mildred feels terribly guilty, did you know that? She thinks she should have been the one, not you. The worst witch, she calls herself, like it’s some perverse title that she’s been forced to live with. She feels awful. And she’s been out every day desperately searching for some way to get your powers back!”

Hecate hates the way the tears fall. Hates how bad she feels. Hates…

“Julie…” Hecate begins. “I’m… I’m sorry. I… I-”

“Right now,” Julie begins. “I just don’t care.” She sucks in a deep breath. “Ada will be here in the morning.”

“So you’re kicking me out?” Hecate gasps, feeling the prickle of fear. She can’t go back to Cackles. Not when she’s a mere shell of who she used to be.

“I don’t have the power to help you and I’m not going to have my daughter put in harms’ way doing magic beyond her for a woman who doesn’t care. If you want help, you make the choice. I can’t force you. If you want help, then stay. But if you want to run… well, you know where the door is. I’m not having your self-destructive behaviour around my daughter. You try to kill yourself with some ridiculous plant, and then drink half my liquor and-”

“My mother killed herself.” The words come out of nowhere, ringing so loudly that for a moment Hecate wonders who spoke them. Julie freezes, one hand still on the doorknob.

“What?”

“My mother. She… she killed herself. I… I know how it affects a child. I… I wasn’t always so…” One hand reaches to her neck, tangles in the chain of her necklace. “I was six. I found her. She… she loved stories. Mythology. But living in the real world wasn’t so easy for her and my father… well, he was not so accommodating. She…” Her voice cracks. “I don’t want Mildred to feel like me. Always waiting for people to leave her. I… I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I’m a bad person, Julie. I’m broken.”

Julie takes a step closer, and her hand on Hecate’s shoulder is the catalyst for her to crumble. She sobs, cries like she hasn’t done since she was a six year old shaking on cold stone floors.

“It’s okay.” She whispers soothingly. “It’s all going to be okay.”

 

She wakes at precisely eleven-fifty, according to the owl-shaped alarm clock on Mildred’s bedside table, to Julie shaking her shoulder. Her head is still pounding and her mouth is dry, and she’s colder than ever. But at the panicked look on the blonde’s face, she sits up.

“Millie’s gone.”

 

 

 

 

                                                   


	9. leave me where i lie

The lights of their torches seem only to illuminate a few steps at a time and Hecate finds herself wishing she had her magic back so that she didn’t have to trudge around in the dark. She reflects on how easy it had been to hold an orb of pure light in her hands, and how her magic had curled in her belly with a comforting weight. 

“Where could she have gone?” Hecate demands again, wrapping the borrowed coat tighter around her and turning to Julie, even though they’ve already gone over every possible place they could think of. And,  _please Merlin,_ they can't fail at this. If they do, it's her fault... 

Her fault that Mildred is who-knows-where. 

“I don’t know.” Julie cries, the wind picking up and whipping her hair around. It's the most undone Hecate has seen the woman, and does nothing to curb Hecate's terror. “The library is shut, her maglet and phone are still inside and we don’t have any family. Just my best friend Maureen – Millie calls her Aunty Mo - but she’s away for the holidays. I… I have no idea. She doesn't... it's usually just us.”

Hecate digs her fingernails into the flesh of her palm. She needs Mildred to be okay. If the girl is not…

She squeezes her eyes shut at the very thought of the alternative. Because Mildred is sweet, and well-intentioned, and she has to be okay  _please please please._

“You don’t think… Agatha? She couldn’t have-” 

“It’s not Agatha.” Hecate cuts her off.

“How can you know that?!" Julie seems to fire up at once. "She’s managed to come back more times than blooming Voldemort and-”

“It’s not Agatha!” Hecate repeats, her fingernails digging further into her flesh. Maybe she'll pierce right through, burrowing deeper and deeper into her guilt. 

“How can you be sure?! Heaven knows, Ada forgives everyone and-”

“It’s not Agatha! She’s still trapped in a painting and stuffed into my family’s safe, sealed by blood magic! I'm the only one who can let her out now! And as far as I'm concerned she can rot there!”

“You… you took her?” Julie takes a step backwards, looking like she had when she’d first found Hecate in the woods. Fearful. Angry. Mother Hubble. “W…why?”

“I was going to kill her and steal her magic.” Above all else, she can’t bring herself to lie to Julie. Not after the kindness that she’d been showed. “Wraith magic. There was a potion and… and if I killed her and… consumed her soul, I could steal her magic. But… I couldn’t do it. I couldn't bring myself too. I'm... I'm broken. But I'm not a monster. Not a murderer. So I locked her in a safe. Only I can open it.”

“That’s…” Hecate can’t stand the way that Julie is staring at her. Hates the fear flickering in the shadows of the blonde’s face.

"I thought... in the beginning... that I'd do anything to get my magic back. And then when I found I couldn't... I broke. And instead of using the darkroot on her..."

"You used it on yourself." Julie finishes, looking as though she's fighting the urge to be ill. And then she shakes her head slowly. “Well, at least we can rule her out. But that still doesn’t help us now.”

“Cackles?” Hecate questions, feeling her voice crack on the name but grateful all the same for the change of subject from one of the worst decisions she's ever made. “I… I could contact Ada but I… I should have grabbed her maglet before we left. I can’t contact Ada without-”

Julie curses, digging around in her pocket for a moment before tugging her mobile free.

“You said Mildred didn’t have her phone.” Hecate protests lamely, although she must admit that the concept of phones is still foreign to her. 

“She doesn’t. But I have another way of contacting the witching world.”

She holds the phone in front of her on, the volume turned up so that Hecate can hear the faint ring-ring and read the text on the display.

_Now Calling_

_Pippa Pentangle_

The name is like a slap in the face, and she rolls the sharp consonants over in her head. _Pippa Pentangle. Pippa Pentangle. Pippa. Her Pipsqueak._ “How… why do you have Pippa-”

“I wanted some help with the witching world and mirror calls and constant transferring are kind of difficult with my schedule. So I added her on Facebook.”

“Facebook?”

 _“Julie?”_ Pippa’s voice interrupts their conversation, and even through the phone Hecate can detect the concern. “ _What’s wrong? It’s not Hecate? Mildred?”_

“Mildred’s missing!” Julie begs through the phone. “I wouldn’t ask but I-”

But at that precise moment, Hecate feels the pull of magic so sudden that it seems to tug her backwards through something more than air. She’s flying backwards, away from Julie and the cold forest and-

 

 _Wham!_ She lands with a heavy thump on soft earth, her head knocking against something sharp. For a moment she’s sure she’s been transported back in time to the same clearing where she’d come so close to committing the supreme act of evil. But then she notices the differences. How the trees are not as grouped together, and the silhouette of a castle looms in the darkness.

And before she’s begin to comprehend how she has ended up here, with the dull ache in her head and stars in her vision, she hears Mildred’s voice, and the sound is so welcome that she sinks to the ground.

_“Take the powers_

_Of the eternal Worst Witch_

_Take my powers._

_Make the switch.”_

Hecate freezes, her sluggish brain working in backlog to comprehend her words. No. _No._

_“A wrong to be righted_

_A life given back_

_Give my powers_

_To the woman in black_

_Hecate Hardbroom_

_Selfless and brave_

_Give back her magic_

_My resolve not-“_

“Mildred Hubble, no!” She can feel a trembling in her fingers that she doesn’t want, not at the expense of the girl who had conjured her from miles away. “Stop. I won’t take it.”

She stumbles forward, trying to grab at Mildred’s hand, some part of the young girl. But Mildred takes an equal step backwards, and the movement is too much for Hecate, who stumbles and falls.

“It should have been me!” Mildred wails, the wind whipping at her whole body. “It should have been me who lost her powers. Not you! I know how to be normal! I could… I could go to school and be normal but you… you _are_ magic.” Mildred turns back to peer at the moon high in the sky. “ _Hecate Hardbroom, selfless and brave-“_

“I won’t take them!” Hecate gasps. “Mildred! Please don’t do this.”

A flash of pink stars, and Pippa appears, swaying slightly at the long distance transfer. “Pippa! Stop her!”

_“Hecate Hardbroom, selfless and brave.”_

“Mildred!”

The power is swirling all around her, Mildred’s raw magic floating in the air. But something is wrong, the air sparking and crackling. And Hecate runs forward, wanting nothing more to get Mildred away from harm.

And then she’s on fire and burning and freezing and then there’s nothing.

 

It’s still dark when she wakes, the moon still in the same spot in the sky, or near enough anyway. Hecate tries to move but pain explodes in her, pain like she’s never known before, and she cries out feebly, muffling her yells in the frozen earth.

“Don’t… don’t move.” Says a voice, and she hears Pippa’s trembling voice. “S… stay there, Hiccup. Oh, shit.”

“’il-ed.”

“Millie’s fine, love. Millie’s fine.” Julie’s voice calls out. “Pippa, she’s lost a lot of blood. Those burns to her hands… she’s probably in shock.”

She closes her eyes, not knowing or caring whether the burning in her hands is magic or pain.

 


	10. i can tell that i'm in trouble

The next time she wakes, she’s near blinded by the weak afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows in the infirmary. She groans, moves to fling an arm over her face to block out the sun, and realises too late that movement is a bad idea. 

“Hiccup!”

“HB!”

“Hecate!”

Hecate squeezes her eyes shut against the light and noise, her brain working in backlog to identify the voices. Pippa. Mildred. Julie.  

“Hiccup!” The light weakens, and Hecate braves peeking with one eye. A pink blur is standing in front of her, blocking the light from the window. “Hiccup, where does it hurt? Are you okay?”

“E-rry-ere.” Hecate manages, feeling like she’s spent the last week screaming in a wind tunnel. “Wa-er?”

Pippa obliges almost immediately, conjuring a goblet of water with a frivolous pink straw sticking out the top, holding it to Hecate’s lips. Hecate is too parched to protest such a pointless usage of magic, instead taking a sip and feeling it sooth her aching throat. Pippa’s hand is shaking, the straw bumping against her lips, but Hecate drinks gratefully.

“If you can manage it,” Pippa presses, and although her hands still shake, her voice is quite steady. “You should probably take some potions. We have some for pain and to replenish strength and…”

Hecate lets the words wash over her, blindly accepting whatever remedies Pippa puts in front of her. By the time she’s obediently drank Pippa’s concoctions, she can manage to move her limbs and open her eyes without wanting to tear herself apart.  

But only just, and her body still shakes like foxgloves in the breeze.

“Better?” Pippa asks, moving her body closer to Hecate’s. “You’re still really pale.”

“...always... pale.” Hecate murmurs, and in spite of the panic on Pippa’s face, she lets out a reluctant smile.

“Good to see your sense of humour is unchanged.” She murmurs softly, absent-mindedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind Hecate’s ear. It’s an oddly intimate gesture, and one that causes Hecate to squirm uncomfortably as she looks around the room at her audience.

“I’m sorry!” Mildred cries the moment that Hecate locks eyes with her. It seems like she’s been holding in her fear for far too long. The young girl’s hair is frizzy and knotted, fingernails shredded and eyes blotchy. “I’m so sorry! I was trying to help and… I just wanted you to have your powers back.” Panic flares in Hecate as the events catch up with her, but when she wriggles her fingers there’s still no trace of magic in her extremities. “It didn’t work.” Mildred finishes. “I really am the worst witch.”

Tears are spilling down Mildred’s cheeks, and Hecate forces herself to sit up. “No.” She whispers. “I’m glad… didn’t work. Made my choice. And… I’d make it again if I had to.”

She moves a hand forwards, as though to wipe away Mildred’s tears, and finds herself staring at heavily bandaged hands instead of her fingers.

“Oh.” Pippa clears her throat. “You’ve got magical burns on your hands. I think they’ll heal…” Pippa looks to Julie as though seeking reassurance. “There’s one on your side. Julie and I both did everything we could.”

“You’ll probably have a little scarring.” Julie continues, taking the cue from Pippa. “But it could have been a lot worse. From what Pippa tells me, the spell was too strong for Millie. And it sort of… exploded? You bore the brunt of the explosion. Millie barely got a scratch.”

 _Thank the Goddesses,_ Hecate thinks.

“I think I’m going to force this one into bed.” Julie continues, rising to her feet and tugging Mildred with her. “Come on, love. We’ll come back later. Uh… Miss Pentangle, would you be able to keep an eye on her tonight? Just call me if anything changes. But she shouldn’t be alone tonight.” There’s a twinkle in her eye that lets Hecate know Julie’s comments aren’t strictly speaking true, but she’s too tired to argue.

When the door has closed and they’re alone, Pippa shakes her head. “You stupid, _stupid_ witch. You could have been killed!”

The words sting. _Witch_ more than _stupid._ “I’m not a witch.” She protests.

“You could have been killed.” Pippa repeats, her voice shaking. “Charging towards a fragmenting spell.”

“Mildred needed…”

“When I saw you laying on the ground-”

“Pippa!”

“No!" Pippa shouts, and Hecate stops speaking. She can't remember the last time the blonde has sounded so furious. "I need you to hear this! When I saw you laying on that ground, my heart stopped beating. It felt like the world had stopped spinning. Just like it did when Ada told me you’d disappeared.”

“Pippa, I had to-”

“No! No you didn’t have to do anything, Hecate! Do you know the last time I spoke to you? Do you know what you said? You mirrored me. You told me you loved me and then you told me to never contact you again. That you were nothing. And then you told me if I didn’t obey then you would...” Her voice catches in her throat. “I… I love you, Hecate. _You._ ”

Hecate’s tongue darts back out to moisten her lips. “I…I don’t have my magic.”

“No.” Pippa agrees. “But I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you a million times more if I have to – you are more than your magic. I love you because you’re _you._ ”

“Pippa-”

“My life without you in it isn’t a life at all. We could run away. We could go to some tropical island and just be together. I don’t care if I never do magic again, as long as I have you. And I know this is all some nonsensical rambling and if I’ve read things wrong, tell me. But I’m sure you love me too.”

“I… I do.”

“So what are we going to do about that? Are you going to push me away again?”

Hecate exhales deeply. "No." 

 

The next time she wakes, it’s to a wave of soft blonde hair clouding her vision, and she breathes in that uniquely _Pippa_ scent.

And for a moment, she’s content. Happy, even. She permits herself the chance that she might just allow herself to dream of a future where this could happen every day, her and Pippa, just simply together. And a smile adorns her face as she considers what it could mean. Just the possibility of something, of this, of happiness, is enough to make her want to jump for joy, even if at the moment she can barely manage a wave.

Despite the narrow infirmary bed, Pippa is curled up next to Hecate, her body soft against all of Hecate’s sharp angles. She looks so utterly peaceful at this moment, hair golden in the sunlight, that Hecate feels she could lie here forever and ever.

“Well, look at you.” Julie smirks, her voice low as she moves into Hecate’s line of vision. “Aren’t you just the cat that got the cream?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that analogy.” Hecate stalls for time, even though she can assume quite easily from the cheeriness in the blonde’s tone.

“Well, you’re healing nicely. I dare say they’ll take a while to be fully healed, but there’s no sign of infection, which is a great sign.”

Hecate clears her throat and nods in gratitude. “Julie… I… I never got the chance to thank you for your hospitality-”

“Don’t mention it. I mean, compared to some of the other people I’ve lived with…” She grins a wry smile and winks. “I mean it, HB. You’re welcome as long as you need a place to stay.”

Hecate’s nose twitches. “I see your daughter’s nickname for me has spread through the Hubble flat.” She muses.

Julie scoffs. “You prefer Heck? Cat? Ooh!” Julie’s smile widens as her eyes light up with mischief. “Catey?”  

Hecate’s barbed response is on the tip of her tongue when Pippa stirs and, on the whole, Hecate chooses to let the teasing slide than risk waking the woman in her arms at last.

 

Of course, there’s no way to avoid a woman when you’re staying in her castle, and on her second day in the infirmary after Mildred and Julie have left her for ‘a little peace and quiet’ and Pippa has finally been persuaded to leave for a few hours, the woman makes her way towards Hecate’s bed.

She feels more herself. Pippa has tied up her hair in a loose ponytail (she'd utterly refused a bun) and Mildred had performed a shower spell on her that made her feel as comfortable as she could expect confined to a bed, but her comfort in herself twists the moment she catches the older woman's eye. 

“Ada.” She’s not prepared for her features; soft in every way her sister’s are hard, warmth to Agatha’s cold cruelty. And before the older woman has so much as looked at her, Hecate finds herself apologising.

It’s nothing like any other apology in her life, composed and dignified. In fact, it’s the complete opposite, completely unbefitting of any Hardbroom. She can barely get the words out of her mouth for sobs as she breaks down completely, her whole body crumpling.

Ada doesn’t speak, doesn’t even move, and Hecate tenses, waiting for the section seven (even if she is no longer a witch). Maybe she’ll be turned into a snail, or a slug, or a cockroach or…

“You took my sister.” Ada murmurs cooly, her gaze unblinking.

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying, not really. Not when she wholeheartedly deserves this retribution for betraying the woman who had given her a chance when no other would.

“Where is she now?” Ada takes a step closer.

“The Hardbroom Vault.” She answers simply. "Sealed by blood magic. I'm the only one..." 

Ada sighs and flops onto the chair that was usually occupied by a Hubble. “I suppose it’s for the best.” She murmurs, rubbing circles onto her temple.

“What?”

“She’s my sister.” Ada sighs. “Part of me will always love her, even if…” She shakes her head. “She was a monster. And I would always be tempted. I… I forgive you.”

“I was going to kill her.” Hecate spits out. She’s not sure exactly why she insists on making this harder, except for some vague notion that if she’s going to be forgiven, she wants Ada to know it all. “I was going to steal her magic. I was going to-”

“You didn’t.” Ada cuts in, reaching a hand forwards. “Your good heart won out, Hecate.” Hecate feels herself collapse at the touch, huge sobs wracking her body. And Ada envelops her, rubbing circles on her back.

“You’re going to be okay.” She whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”  


End file.
